


if you're homesick (give me your hand and i'll hold it)

by MissCatherineEarnshaw



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Multi, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3161384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCatherineEarnshaw/pseuds/MissCatherineEarnshaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is the first to be reincarnated. Everything is a surprise after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. no-one needs to be alone

**Author's Note:**

> This is so self-compliant I'm sorry - I hope you might like nevertheless.  
> Since I'm french and unbeta'ed, I apologize for any mistake you may find along the way.  
> My take on the reincarnation process was partly prompted by the Merlin/Mordred fic How We Have Changed, that I higly recommend you.
> 
> Enjoy your reading :D !  
> Titles of the story and its chapters come from the Cherry Ghost's People Help The People

* * *

 

He wakes up in a world surrounded by white.

He blinks once, twice, and realizes the white is actually snow – a deep, thick coat of snow he's currently lying in. He can feel the cold and the humidity infiltrating his clothes. Once his eyes are used to the overwhelming whiteness, he's able to distinguish the tall, greyish building looming over him. He's positive he's never seen such a thing before. His head feels heavy and his whole body is run by shivers caused by the snow flakes melting on his skin. He focuses hard to try and cast a warming spell, but nothing happens. He can't say he's very surprised. There's a hollowness in his chest that reminds him acutely of the time Morgana deprived him from his power and, although he didn't recognize it at the time, he's now able to link it to the absence of magic. He scrambles in his jacket in order to find something that will give him some clue about what is happening to him and where is he exactly – he stumbles on a piece of paper, something he'll later recognize as an ID, stating that his name is Merlin Emrys and that he was born in 1990. None of the information on this thing makes senses, including this incredibly detailed picture of him – so he ends up squinting at the card in vain, hoping it will give him all the answers he needs. He's so busy focusing on it that he doesn't pay attention to the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow, which means he doesn't notice the old lady coming until she's just near him and asking him carefully “Mr Emrys ?  What are you doing there ?”

The sudden appearance makes him jump out of his skin- since he's lying on the ground, that translates in flailing vaguely his arms around. The piece of paper drops on the snow. He scrambles to pick it up.

“You've been drinking yourself to death last night, is that it? That doesn't sound like you.”

The way she looks at him is both disapproving and worried, which meant she must know him somehow. Merlin doesn't know how it is possible given he has no recollection of her at all, but now is not the moment to wonder about it.

“I might have had a pint or two.” he tries with a boyish smile. The look she gives him is eerily reminiscent of the one Arthur used to give him when he thought Merlin had spent too much time at the tavern. He doesn't know if that makes him feel better or worse.

“I'm going to walk you home young man, I think it's for the best.”

His first instinct is to protest there's no need but as he stands up, his legs go wobbly and besides, he's got no idea of where home is supposed to be, so he let her guide him.

They walk in the greyish building, climbs up countless stairs and cross unremarkable hallways until they arrive in front of a faintly red door. From the expectant look the lady gives him, he supposes they must have reached their destination.

“Here we are” she mumbles, confirming his intuition. “You've got your keys, haven't you?”

“Of course I have them.” is his immediate answer. He bites his lips after the spontaneous outburst, only prompted by his reluctance to give his savior another reason to pity him. He rummages through his jacket, his trouser and fortunately comes across them in the third pocket. The clinking sound they produce seems to momentously relieve the lady, but it is short lived, because this lock is much more small and intricate than the one Merlin are used to. He can feels her disapproving stare at the back of her neck as he fumbles with his keys.

Fortunately, he eventually manages to get it right in the lock and to open up the door. He thanks her as he comes in and she purses her lips but nods amiably nevertheless. He takes a quick overall look once he's inside. The place he's supposedly living in is full or weird objects and installations, but he doesn't have the heart to marvel about them. Instead, he stumbles in all the different rooms until he comes across the bed and then collapses onto it and buries his head under the pillow. _Things will get better once I've slept a little_ he manages to think numbly before the tiredness overwhelms him.

 

He's woken up by a loud blare coming from a small black object near his pillow. He reaches for it numbly and puts against his ear. He doesn't know why, but it seems like the right thing to. The loud voice coming from it makes him reconsider, though.

“I need your paper Merlin.” it grumbles. “You were supposed to email it last night, and I still haven't got anything.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Merlin admits weakly. The black thing produces a loud huff.

“Oh for fuck's sake, have you ween drinking?”- and what is it that everyone in this worlds seems to think he's got a drinking habit, he has no idea- “Your short story, the thing you've supposedly been writing for weeks. Now listen to me,it's not that complicated- go to your desk, shut on your computer, log in the password I'm sure you've noted on a post-it somewhere and send me the damn thing. You've got one hour.”

The voice disappears, only to be replaced by a loud beep. When it becomes pretty obvious the noise is not going to stop, Merlin puts the thing away and steps precariously out of his bed. He's got the feeling he should as well do as he were told, since he's got nothing better to do anyway. He walks up to his desk, on which rests an item he assumes to be the _computer_ the voice was talking about. Sure enough, there's piece of green paper on it claiming that the password is _Excalibur_. What a lame joke.

Merlin runs his fingers on it absentmindedly and somehow finds the right button to hit- brights colors suddenly appears and soon he's able to decipher the sentence _Here's my work, tell me if there's anything wrong, good night_. It looks like his other self – he's not sure how he is supposed to name him- did his job well.

There's a drawing of a little envelop captioned _send_ and Merlin brushes it, because he's positive the meaning of these words must transcend time and space. It has the message disappearing, which he counts as a success. He's baffled by the propriety of those objects – this so called computer, the black little thing he was talking to just a moment ago. A clueless one may deem them as magical, but Merlin's not clueless and he recognizes magic at work when he sees it. The hum that comes from these item is all wrong- too blank, too lifeless.

He notices there is now a new text right where the laconic message used to be. It must the short story the voice was talking about. He glances at it dismissively and comes to a halt as the word _Camelot_ stands out. He rereads it more carefully, and each sentence feels like a blow. This is a tale relating an adventure of Arthur and his round table.

Once he's done, he slumps his head dejectedly on the desk. Hundred years later, and he's still writing about the Once and Future King and his knights to earn his life. It is both admirable and depressing.

 

It turns out he's got a life here – not only a job and a home, but also numerous acquaintances (although none of them are very close to him), habits at local bookshop and coffee-shop, where sellers greet him amiably when he walks in. He takes everything in stride – just like that first morning, some dim corner of his mind and hard-engrained body reflex usually provide him the information he needs to navigate in this weird environment.

He waits for Arthur to show up – he's the other side of his coin after all, and Kilgharrah did promise him he'd come back eventually- but that doesn't happen. He waits for weeks, for months, long enough to settle in this new life, long enough to get used to the weirdness of everything surrounding him. Arthur still doesn't come.

 

He's been here for a whole year when his doorbell rings at an ungodly hour in the night. At his point, his hopes of ever seeing Arthur in this lifetime are quite dampened– the idea that someone else could show up has never crossed his mind- so he doesn't think at all about Camelot as he reluctantly rises from his bed and shuffles to his door. He's ninety percents sure it's his housekeeper coming to complain about his noisy neighbors again. He swings open the door and freezes. The person standing in his doorway, staring at him with distressed eyes, is not his housekeeper. It is not Arthur either. It is Morgana.

She doesn't look at all like the high priestess he stabbed hundred years ago – her stare is not as hollow and crazed, her lips have not curved into that cruel smile yet - but she doesn't look either like the innocent- if strong willed-girl he met right at his arrival in Camelot - her cheekbone are more emaciated, her gaze harder. Tears are running down her cheeks and the sight of them makes Merlin's heart clench.

He's not sure how this happens exactly – one minute Morgana is is front of him and the next she is in her arms- but he ends up holding her tightly, her face buried in the crook of his neck. The initial feeling of recoil and disgust vanishes almost instantly and soon he is filled with a mix of compassion and worry. He realizes he doesn't want to let her go.

 

Getting used to each other presence is less difficult that expected. Morgana explains to him, later on, how she woke up just like him, in the backyard of a Cardiff's building and with no clue of where she was. Her steps guided her automatically to Merlin's place – as if she was tugged by some force, but not a magical one - she precises to a puzzled Merlin. They soon discover that Morgana Pendragon exists too, in this universe- she lives in a cozy flat in the center of Cardiff all by herself, runs a blog that claims she's a stylist but mainly seems to live from unearned income. It takes them one whole day to transfer her things back to his place. The decision of living together is not a conscious one but rather the result of an impulse of the moment. The solace they found each other as they were brought together again was so strong that breaking apart seemed almost impossible.

 

It turns out that pretty quickly that, unlike him, Morgana doesn't remember everything from her previous lifetime. Merlin, from the very beginning has been able to recall every events that occurred during his time in Camelot - they're not always at the forefront of his mind but he can be reminded of them acutely if he wants to.

Morgana on the other hand merely possesses glimpses of her past. She knows she used to live at the court as Uther's ward the moment she met Merlin for the first time, that things went to hell at one point and she ended up all alone, enraged and at war against the world- but that's about as precise as she'll get.

Her memories get clearer and clearer the more time she spends with him though, and Merlin is here to watch as she unravels them and slowly unfolds her past. This leads to nasty fights, because the more she learns, the more reasons she has to resent Merlin for what he did to her – she argues and screams at him, and Merlin screams back, because even if the pain she caused him hundred years ago is subdued somehow, it's still there and he is sure as hell isn't going to take the blame for everything wrong that happened during their time in Camelot. In the first months, she often storms out their flat- claiming that she never wants to see again and slamming the door. Merlin tries to convince himself it's for the best every times it happens- _it could not last this way, should not really_ – but when she comes home- and she always comes home- all he can feel is relief. She scurries into his arms and whispers to his ear _I'm sorry_ as she holds him tight, and if Merlin ends up apologizing too, well, that's no one's problem but his own.

 

 

 

They get closer and closer as the months come by. Their bond is a strange one – Merlin's not sure how one qualifies the relationship between two formers archenemies who ends up spending all their time together and find themselves enjoying it – but it is very strong nevertheless. They don't talk about it though – just like they don't mention their relationship in their previous lifetimes, asides from the sporadic outbursts resulting from Morgana's remembrance. They try to stay clear of the subject of the others person they used to mix with in Camelot too – Merlin, because he knows Morgana doesn't like to be reminded of the people he was the closest to, Morgana...he's not so sure why. Maybe because she really didn't have anyone to rely on besides Morgause. The thought makes him sad.

Anyway, the matter is left unaddressed- until that one afternoon, as they're sitting at their favorite coffee shop and waiting for their command to arrive. The silence between them is stretching, but it is a serene, comfortable one- and then all of sudden Morgana asks him the question.

“Did you love him ?”

“Who ?”

The question borders on the rhetorical- they're not really close to anyone here, and unless Morgana has really over-interpreted the smile he gave to that barrista just one minute ago, that means she's talking about a someone from a different time, a different place. A someone she considers she doesn't need to introduce beforehand which really narrows it down to one person. She answers nonetheless.

“ Arthur.”she shrugs, and Merlin is amazed at the lack of venom in her voice –there is still some, but barely perceptible, as if the former witch decided it wasn't worth the hassle.

“He was the most important person in my life.” he answers in one breath, surprised at how easily the words come out. “ So yeah, obviously.”

“I didn't mean it that way. I'm aware you cared for him – more than a manservant for his king, more than a friend watching out for another even. I may not have not understood it at the time, but I do now. You wouldn't have done half of what you did otherwise. Destiny doesn't explain everything.” She smirks at that, as she's thinking of a joke only she can understand, then she adds pointedly “Anyway, my point was that I wasn't asking you that. I had the _other_ kind of love in mind.”

It takes a while for the words to actually make sense, but when they do, Merlin almost chokes on. It's a good thing their drink have not arrived yet because he might have sputtered his coffee all over the table. Morgana stays unmoved during his ordeal, even though there's a slight tug at the corner of her upper lip.

“I wasn't involved in a romantic relationship with your half-brother, if that's what you're asking.” he eventually manages to articulate. “God no, what an idea. It wasn't anything like that. I swear our relationship was of the utmost platonic.”

“Promise?” the former witch asks with a smirk.

“Promise.” Merlin asserts vigorously. There are all sorts of weird image going in his mind right now thanks to her. When he tells Morgana so, her smirks grows sadistic.

“If I have to be completely honest, though,” he can't help but add, once they've recovered, even though is brain is shouting how bad an idea it is - “I used to have a soft spot for you.”

Morgana laughs at that – an actual, genuine laugh- and Merlin can't help but feel relief. There are so many reasons she could have taken this the wrong away, used it against him – and he would have had no right to blame her- but she chose not to, and he's so glad.

“My god, that was certainly unexpected.” she tells him once she has recovered her serious. “And to think I was so sure you only had eyes for Arthur.”

He shrugs, embarrassed, and Morgana reaches out to pet his hand kindly.

“Don't worry- this only means you've got better tastes than I used to think. It's excellent news really.”

Merlin can't help but laugh at that and the butterflies that flutter in his stomach at that moment are a vague reminiscence of a very long time ago.

They don't bring on the subject again, but there are times- when Morgana smirks because she caught him staring or when they hold each other a fraction too long when they hug- Merlin wonders if she thinks back to this conversation.

 

They miss their magic – the solid thrumming in their veins whenever they cast a spell, the feeling of power it gave them. The nostalgia is so strong that one point, they show up at one of these pseudo-druidic meeting organized in the hills near Cardiff. Merlin sees the add at one of his favorite bookshops- the one with a big new-age section, whose books claim to hold the solution to any psychological, emotional and mystical problems you may have – and when she shows it to Morgana, she sniggers but eventually asks him _Why not ?_ So he shrugs and phones the number on the ad. The lady who answers him is very nice – gives them a heads-up of what it's going to happen exactly, even offers them a ride to the location of the ritual- and so the next Saturday they ends up in the sodden welsh greenery, listening to a young man dressed up as a pseudo druid holding mistletoe and chanting next to an ancestral oak. The situation feels so absurd they both have to struggle to keep their serious- more than once, Merlin catches Morgana biting her cheek to prevent an incoming laugh. As they walk back to the car after the ceremony, they take advantage of the moment they're out of earshot to giggle helplessly. Morgana buries his head in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

“What have we gotten into.” she mumbles into the fabric of his jacket, and the vibrations of her voice does funny thing to Merlin's chest.

“I don't know.” he chuckles. “Guess the standards of the Old Religion have dropped dramatically in the last centuries.”

When the former witch steps out though, her eyes are glistening. He doesn't need to ask- he thinks back to the hollowness he felt back next to the hill, whereas the wild should have been enlightened with the warm buzz of magic, and the sadness nearly overwhelms him too.

“We'll get it back one day.” he eventually whispers, and that's a promise he can't keep, but he thinks Morgana needs it and, to be honest, he may need it too. She squeezes his wrist in lieu of answer and for a fleeting moment, they're ready to believe everything will be alright.

 

They've been here together for two years and something – honestly, Merlin has stopped counting at this point- and, as far as he's concerned, it feels like they're going to stay this way forever. Their habits are so ingrained by now that it's hard to imagine there was a time when things were different.

That's why he doesn't suspect anything as he comes home that night in late November. Sure, Morgana's been sending him increasing pressing texts in the past two hours – like _Hurry Up_ or _You should definitely be here,_ but there are tons of smiley in them, so he's pretty sure it's nothing too serious.

When he arrives at the door though, he feels him stomach tight itself in a knot. He tries to ignore it as he puts his hand on the handle. Morgana opens up before he completes the gesture. Her smile is radiant.

“So, what was so urgent ?” he asks her, raising his eyebrows. The knot is tighter than ever.

“Guess who I've found” she sings-songs and,for the first time in ages, Merlin feels like he should fear the joyful glint in her eyes. She steps out, and the world comes to a halt. Behind her, leaning awkwardly in the corridor, is Mordred.


	2. nothing's gonna drag you down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow sorry, it took longer than expected, but I wanted to this right. I hope you might like it.  
> Also this is is the first time ever I've written an OT3, so please be indulgent with me ;)
> 
> Have a good reading ! Thank you to anyone who reviewed/kudoed/bookmarked, it really made be happy :D

* * *

 

He's still in Cardiff, standing in the doorway of his flat, but for a moment all he can see is the despair and the bloodbath of the battlefield, the endless stream of cadavers on the ground, Arthur's seemingly inanimate form. Mordred and Morgana are both staring at him but their presence doesn't matter- nothing matters except this dizzying swirl of disturbing images and the sturdy _He's the one_ _responsible_ _, he's the one who killed Arthur_ thrumming in his brain.

“I can't.” he eventually breathes out, and he hates how shaky his voice sounds to his own ears. He storms past a bewildered Mordred and a worried Morgana and goes to lock himself in his room. He lies on his bed, his whole body shaking with silent sobs. When he eventually reigns over his emotion, almost an hour later, he's able to hear Morgana's gentle rap of knuckles against his door.

“Come in.” he mutters, his voice muffled by the pillow. She hears it nevertheless and pushes open the door softly. Her face is unreadable, save for her eyes – they are stormy and tormented, and Merlin feels a brief pang of guilt for making them that way. She comes to sat next to him and begins to rub his shoulders gently. When she eventually speaks, her words are tentative and careful.

“You've always feared him even more than me, haven't you ?”

“It's complicated. » Merlin mumbles. “ I've known you – I've grown to like you – before I learned you were meant to be my enemy. And for the longest time, I've been unable to reconcile these two images of you”. He pauses one moment at that, wanting to let Morgana the opportunity to interject if she wants to, but she merely gestures him to go on.”Mordred, though.. I was warned about him on the very time our paths crossed. Besides, there was the fact he was bound to become Arthur's doom, not mine.”

"And you've always valued Arthur's life more than yours." Morgana declares evenly. It's a statement, not a question, and that in itself is a testimony to how well she understands Merlin now.

“My life was only valuable as a means to protect Arthur's.” he tells her gently.

“Not anymore.” she answers in a tone that is both bitterness and compassion, and these two words express everything he needs to be reminded of – the absurdity of their current situation and the need to find new motivations to go on. Morgana stares at him with hopeful eyes, and he feels his angers slipping away. The image of Arthur's face contorted in pain that has been burning behind his eyelids ever since Mordred's apparition begins to fade.

“You're right about this.” he eventually mutters. “I can't shun him away.”

“I'm always right.” Morgana smirks, but behind the teasing tone Merlin is able to to recognize gratitude in her voice.

When they come back to the living room, they find Mordred sat precariously on the couch, ready to flee on short notice if needed. His strained composure unexpectedly moves Merlin. The former druid is worried, genuinely so – the least he can do is to try and make an effort to be amiable.

“I'm sorry for earlier.” he tells him as he sticks out his hand – a conciliatory gesture. Mordred takes it tentatively, and the smile he shots him as he shakes it can't be anything but sincere.

They have a bit of an awkward moment when they must decide who will sleep where that evening. Merlin doesn't have a spare bed, except for the couch in living room Morgana has been claiming ever since she came him, and he's got no idea where to put Mordred. The former druid tells them he doesn't mind sleeping on the floor, but they ignore his proposition

“He can sleep with me on the couch.” Morgana proposes nonchalantly as the two of them are alone in the kitchen and Merlin feels himself freeze. He's not sure he can put so much faith in Mordred at the moment. He's aware that doesn't make much sense- he's already opened his door to the younger boy, the muted sound of the shower running in the background is proof alone of that- but the idea sets him on edge nevertheless.

“I'd rather have you sleeping in my bedroom.” he answers quietly, and he knows how weird the words may sound. Morgana shots him a puzzled look, but his anguish must be pretty obvious, because her faces quickly softens.

“If you're sure you don't mind.” she tells him gently, and when Merlin doesn't protest, she stands up and walks to the bathroom, probably to inform Mordred of their decision. The former warlock lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

 

Half an hour later, as they're lying in Merlin's bed, in the darkness save for the glowing light of the lamppost, he inquires softly. “I forgot to ask you..what did you mean by _I ran into him?_ ”.

“Oh, I was being quite literal. Like one minute I was leaving a shop, the next I was bumping into him on the pavement. Weird, isn't it?”

“Not so much.” Merlin shrugs. “Remember when you showed up at my doorstep that evening?”

“Right.” Morgana chuckles. “It feels like we're magnets bound to collide with each other;”

There is an awkward silence after that comment, thick with lingering thoughts about unexpected yet unbreakable connections and their consequences. At one point, Merlin's eyelids begin to flutter and he might have fallen asleep if Morgana had not nudged him.

“Merlin?”

“Hmm?”

“I know this is difficult, but you're going to try your best, aren't you?”

“I'll buy a new mattress first thing in the morning.” he mumbles and Morgana laughs, scurrying into him as she leans on to shut the light off.

They fall asleep intertwined around each other.

 

Everything falls in place pretty quickly. After the first awkward night, Merlin fears for a moment that things are going to be strained for a while, but it doesn't happen. Instead Mordred fits in their lives so effortlessly it feels like he's always been there. The previous bilateral relationship Merlin shared with Morgana shifts into a flawless triangle without they even notice it. Merlin is startled to realize how much he actually has in common with Mordred. They share the same sense of loyalty, the same deep innocence layered with lingering suspicion and worry fueled by their past lifetime, and even a dry sense of humor Merlin wouldn't have suspected from the former druid. He sometimes wonders with a pang of guilt if things back in Camelot could have been any different had he been aware of that-but he always stops pretty quickly because the spiral of _what if_ is a dangerous and endless one. They're happy now- that's all that matters.

 

There are days- when Morgana and him take Mordred sight-seeing all the nice place they've found in Cardiff over the year, or when the two banter him as he's trying to cook them a decent meal in their crappy kitchen- Merlin think they form some sort of a family- a weird family, but a family nevertheless. There are others-when they all fall asleep on the couch watching crap TV and he's woken up at dawn by Mordred nuzzling gently his neck and Morgana pressing a light kiss on his forehead to wish him a good morning- he's not so sure.

 

Their odd equilibrium isn't something they discus though – just like he and Morgana didn't use to ponder on the specificity of their relationship. Merlin is willing to keep it that way- because why would you try to dissect something that works well?- but then Mordred brings it up, on one cold winter afternoon.

“Are you and Morgana together?” the former druid asks him out of nowhere.

They're both sipping tea in the cramped kitchen, and Merlin has a weird sense of déjà vu. He hopes this conversation will turn out less awkward than the one with Morgana. He doesn't sputter his tea, so he guesses that makes at least one success.

“We're not.” he answers firmly.

Mordred rises his eyebrows.

“You're aware it doesn't look that way, right? I mean, I can count on two fingers the number of times you've slept apart in the past month.”

Merlin feels his cheeks burning. “We thought it would be better for you if you got to sleep on the couch rather than on the mattress.” he protest feebly.” And besides, it doesn't mean anything- the three of us have fallen asleep together on the couch hundred times. “

“If you say so” Mordred shrugs. He looks unconvinced but unwilling to press the matter further. Merlin squirms uneasily in his chair.

“Why are you so curious anyway? Do you...are you interested in Morgana?” The thought sends unpleasant feelings down his stomach but he dismisses them. It's none of his business after all. Mordred is staring at him as if he's most idiotic man who's ever walked on earth.

“It's not quite what I had in mind.” he eventually answers, and his tone is laced with something Merlin can't understand.

The loud bang of the door signaling Morgana's arrival cuts their discussion abruptly, and Merlin can't help but feel relief.

When they go to bed that evening though, Morgana yanks him by the arm into his bedroom. “Time to sleep.” she mumbles and Merlin catches Mordred staring at them. The former druid is raising his eyebrows and mouthing _I told you so_. Merlin shakes his head wordlessly, and Morgana looks between the two of them curiously.

“What is it with the two of you?”

“Nothing.” they both answer simultaneously and Morgana doesn't seem to buy it. She doesn't insist though, and the conversation doesn't pop again, at least as far Merlin's concerned.

 

They experience some bumps along the way though – mostly when Mordred is faced up with remembrances from his past lifetime. Just like Morgana, the memories aren't engrained in his mind when he wakes up but stumbles from time to time in his head, usually leaving him harried and melancholic.

Merlin wonders for a long time why is he the only to have remembered everything from the beginning. He comes to the conclusion he was the one most concerned with the notion of destiny, back in Camelot – sure, the others were aware higher forces were at stakes, but Merlin's pretty sure neither Mordred nor Morgana felt as often as him they were took on a journey they weren't able to control or to understand. Being this concerned about his future forced him to pay greater attention to what was happening to him at the time, what had happened earlier and to anticipate how it was likely to turn out in the end. That and the final push of the Kilgharrah's last words to him about Arthur – _he's the once and future king_ \- may explain his early reconnection. As he observes Morgana and Mordred, one after the other, struggle with the figments of their past lives, he thinks that might have been for the best.

Watching the former druid going through this ordeal is both better and worse than with Morgana. Better because he's been expecting it to happen, and because Morgana is here with him this time, ready to soothe Mordred and help him come round if needed. Worse because knowing what lies ahead doesn't soften the blow in his chest whenever Mordred suddenly stares at him with haughty eyes. Worse because unlike Morgana, Mordred doesn't yell, doesn't storm out – instead he slumps into some a sort of depressed stupor and spends entire afternoons locked out in Merlin's room, before he eventually comes out and acts like nothing has happened.

Until that evening, when Merlin comes home to stumble on a puffy eyed Mordred. The glare of pure hatred he shots him before brushing past him is paralyzing. The door slams, and the noise it makes sounds deafening to Merlin's ears. Morgana is near him before he knows it.

“He remembers Kara.” she tells him softly.

“Of course he does.” Merlin sighs. The anger in Mordred's eyes seemed familiar and now he realizes why – it was the same in Morgana's when she was first reminded of the time he decided to poison her to save Camelot.

“You're planning to go after him?” she asks him gently, and Merlin notices he's put back his scarf without even thinking about it. He nods sheepishly.

“I know we usually agree on letting each other space when this happens, but it feels like I should explain myself on this one.”

He doesn't voice the absurd thought _Because he might not come back otherwise_ although it is currentlybouncing back and forth in his head. Morgana may understands it nevertheless though, if the gentle way she tucks his scarf is anything to go by.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Merlin shakes his head.

“I'm not sure it's a good idea – I mean I'm clearly the one antagonizing him at the moment and if worse comes to worse, you do not want him to associate the both of us.”

“That's your call.” she tells him softly, and Merlin feels a sudden urge of affection for her- he's glad that she's here right now and that she understands him as well as she does. He doesn't know of to tell her though, and Mordred's absence is badgering incessantly at the back of his mind, so he merely smiles and pats her shoulder before walking out of their flat.

He doesn't ponder long on where Mordred has fled – there's only one place he can imagine him at the moment. It's a small park two blocks away- well it's more three and half trees scattered on an uneven grass. It's not much, but Mordred likes being there. He says he finds it soothing and that even a pretense of greenery is better than none at all. They all miss the luxuriant forests of Camelot obviously, but having spent most of his childhood in the wilderness, traveling from one druids' camp to another, makes it harder for him to get used to the grim concrete of Cardiff. The park should be closed at this hour in the evening, but Merlin has seen ten years old kids climbing up the small fence forbidding its access.

Sure enough, he finds him sprawled on a wooden bench near the entrance. Merlin tries to be as cautious as possible as he comes near him, but the crunch of the fallen leaves under his feet betray him. Mordred stands up straight immediately.

He stares at Merlin with narrowed eyes, which the former warlock recognizes as a desperate attempt to shun him away telepathically. Out of the three of them, he might be the one who misses magic the most. Once again, it may have something to do his past druidic life – unlike them, he was able to use freely during most of his life.

Nothing happens obviously and eventually Mordred has to admit his defeat.

“Go away.” he mumbles tiredly as Merlin sits next to him.

“I tried to save her.” the older one answers gently, which earns him a dry chuckle from Mordred.

“Sure you did. You kept your mouth shut, even tried to convince Arthur to spare her – I imagine what kind of sacrifice that must have been for you. Obviously you only did this because _his_ life was in the balance in the end. You were so afraid I would turn against him you were even ready to protect Kara. Because that's all we were – that's all I was- for you. Mere pawns to be used in your grand scheme involving Arthur and the future of Albion.”

Merlin tries to interject here, but Mordred doesn't leave him the time.

“I mean, it's not even about Kara at his point. I know you're not the one responsible for her death – Arthur was the one to have her executed, hell, even she was aware of what was expecting her and she still decided it was worth it.” Mordred stops a moment there, and when he talks again, his words sound hollow and strained. “It's just... you hated me Merlin. You hated me so damn much, and I've been a fool to forget this.”

“I did.” Merlin admits brusquely, because they're past lying at his point. “I used to hate you. Hundred years ago, in a different lifetime.”

“And so? Does that mean I should trust you now?”

“Don't you think Morgana and I haven't already talked about this endless times ? We always come to the same conclusion - _What's the point ?_. We're stuck here for god know how long, with no clue of what we're supposed to do, and no one to rely on except each other. Don't you think running from this is absurd? Why should we resort to wishful thinking about what used to be?”

Mordred stares at him silently. Merlin is able to see the words slowly sinking in – his stance relaxes, his gaze softens- and for a moment it almost looks they're going to be alright. And then the former druid asks sharply “Do you not miss Arthur ?”, and Merlin feels like all air has been withdrawn from his lungs.

“As I would miss a limb.” he eventually answers in a whisper. Morgana would roll her eyes, if she was here, but honestly, there aren't other words to describe this feeling of both acute pain and complete hollowness. “That doesn't mean I should keep myself from living.”

“If he came back, would you choose him over us ?”

And there it is, the question he's sure has been hovering on Morgana's lips ever since the beginning of their arrangement but that she's probably been to afraid to ask. Merlin suddenly realizes he's known the answer all along.

“I don't see why I would have to choose. The choices we've made here...” he begins then stops, because he wants to get the words rights. “...these lives we've built, they don't look anything like the previous one – hell, we don't even have our magic here. Why would our story repeat itself? We've all been drawn together in this universe Mordred, I'm sure you've already wondered about this- somehow I don't think it's because we're supposed to destroy ourselves again this time.”

“I don't know.” Mordred sighs. “I'm not even sure I can believe you care for me anymore.”

Merlin's insides squeeze, and his answer is an instinctive one – he leans on to kiss him.

It is meant to be a quick peck- he doesn't want to impose on Mordred, merely to find a way to communicate him his affection – but as soon as their lips brush, the former druid's hand slid into Merlin's hair to keep him firmly in place. The kiss becomes much more vigorous, as Mordred presses harder and manages to slide his tongue in his mouth, and he finds himself enjoying every minute of it. When they eventually break apart, they are breathless and flushed. Mordred's eyes are glinting.

“Morgana is going to kill me.” he chuckles softly, and _that_ isn't quite the reaction Merlin was expecting. His puzzled expression prompts the younger one to elaborate.

“ We promised each other we would try to keep our hands to ourselves when it comes to you. You see, we're both interested, and forcing you to choose either one of us – or none for that matter- seemed rather unfair.”

This discussion feels surreal but so does Mordred's thumbs brushing softly his cheek. He decides to roll with it, and the words come tumbling out of his mouth before he thinks them through.

“It doesn't have to be this way.”he blurts out. “We can be in this _together,_ just like we always are.” he adds cautiously, hoping that Mordred will get the emphasize right. Apparently the former druid does, because he squeezes his hand and smiles before answering. “ I guess we could do that.”

They don't have to tell Morgana where they are or anything- she finds them one hour later, as the sun has just disappeared behind the line of horizon.

She first frowns at their sight – their hands still intertwined, Mordred's head resting on Merlin's shoulder – but when Merlin offers him his right hand, her face relaxes. She takes it with a tentative smile. He uses the opportunity to press a light kiss on her hand and her smile becomes dazzling.

“So Merlin, I take it you figured out a way to have us both ?”

The comment makes him flush, which has his two friends cooing over how adorable he is. He doesn't know if he should be glad or embarrassed – he settles on the former when Mordred leans on to whisper in his ear _you do look cute when you blush_.

Morgana settles her head in Merlin's lap, her right hand still secured in his. The sky darkens as they all nestle against each other. The stars are nowhere in sight – the gray curl of clouds are too thick, but they can enjoy the bright shine of the moon in the quiet of the deserted park.

Maybe this isn't quite what is _meant to be_ , but in that moment, they couldn't care less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I totally confess I had the scene with the Doctor,Amy Pond and Van Gogh in mind when I wrote the ending - sue me- *michael scott's voice*

**Author's Note:**

> * shock and awe on all sides*  
> The next chapter is already drafted and I've begun to write it so hopefully it should be here soon - like one or two weeks.  
> As usual, reviews and kudos are love :)


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